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A BOX OF MONKEYS 



Price, 15 Cents 




©©PYWlftHT, 1889, BY WALTER H. BAKER # G**> 



Monograph 



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f 



A. W. PINERO'S PLAYS 

Uniformly Bound in Stiff Paper Covers, 
Price, 50 cents each. 



The publication of the plays of this popular author, made feasible by the new 
Copyright Act, under which his valuable stage rights can be fully protected, 
enables us to offer to amateur actors a series of modern pieces of the highest 
class, all of which have met with distinguished success in the leading English 
and American theatres, and most of which are singularly well adapted for ama- 
teur performance. This publication was originally intended for the benefit of 
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THE AMAZONS. 



A Farcical Romance in Three Acts. By Arthur 
W. Pinero. Seven male and five female char- 
1 acters. Costumes, modern; scenery, an exterior 

and an interior, not at all difficult. This admirable farce is too well known 
through its recent performance by the Lyceum Theatre Company, New York, to 
need description. It is especially recommended to young ladies' schools and 
colleges. (1895.) 



THE CABINET MINISTER. 



/is 

/is 

4S 

lis 
fa 

IIS 
IS 



A Farce in Four Acts. By 
Arthur W. Pinero. Ten male 
and nine female characters. 
Costumes, moder» society ; scenery, three interiors. A very amusing piece, in- 
genious in construction, and brilliant in dialogue. (1892.) ^ h'd 

"HA IMTYV DTnC I A ^arce in Three Acts. By Arthur W. Pinero. \f/ 

■LAn-LN.L-' * j-/iv-iXV* I s e v en male, four female characters. Costumes, mod- k|"j 

1 era ; scenery, two interiors. This very amusing piece \fr 

was another success in the New York and Boston theatres, and has been ex- £J^ 

tensively played from manuscript by amateurs, for whom it is in every respect W 

suited. It provides an unusual number of capital character parts, is very funny, |[£ 4 

and an excellent acting piece. Plays two hours and a half, ' (1893.) \?r 

TT-IT7 T-TfYR"RV TJ/YPCP I A Comedy in Three Acts. By Arthur *•*•* 

in.IL nUDDI nAJJVOCi* w PrNER0 . Ten male, five female char- \ff 

■ — ' acters. Scenery, two interiors and an ex- .^|% 

terior ; costumes, modern. This piece is best known in this country through the \f^ 

admirable performance of Mr. John Hare, who produced it in all the principal Sft 

cities. Its story presents a clever satire of false philanthropy, and is full of yff 

interest and humor. Well adapted for amateurs, by whom it has been success- k*|% 

fully acted. Plays two hours and a half . (1892.) ^|f 

T ADY ROU1MTTFUT I A Pla y in Four Acts - B y Arthur w. W 

1"*^' ,* DUUiNliruu Pinero. Eight male and seven female char- \lf 

— — — -^-— — — — — ^— ■ acters. Costumes, modern ; scenery, four jjf 

interiors, not easy. A play of powerful sympathetic interest, a little sombre in £1/ 

key, but not unrelieved by humorous touches. (1892.) jjf 



A BOX OF MONKEYS 



& Wzxlov gas** in gwcr &cts 



BY 



GRACE L. FURNISS 



Reprinted by permzssion of Messrs. Harper and Brothers and the autkc 

from Harper's Bazar for December 2/st, 1889. 

Copyright, z88q, by Harper and Brothers. 



BOS1 ON 

j0 




2* 






CHARACTERS. 

EDWARD RALSTON . . A promising yumg American, half 

owner of the Sierra Gold Mine 

CHAUNCEY OGLETHORPE . . His partner, second son oj 

Lord Doncaster 

MRS. ONDEGO-JHONES An admirer of ratili 

SIERRA-BENGALINE .... Her niece, a prairie rose 

LADY GUINEVERE LLANDPOORE . . An English prim. 

rose, daughter of the Earl of Paynaugkt 



Costumes.— Modern and appropriate. 




■~ 






A BOX OF MONKEYS. 



ACT I. 



Scene. — Drawing-room of Mrs. Ondego-Jhones's resi- 
dence^ 900 Fifth Avenue. Piano right. Sofa left. Table, 
with wj'iting materials, right centre. Entrances — centre, 
right, left. Window left of centre entrance. Portieres, 
pictures, chairs, etc., in handsome modern style. 

Curtain rises on Mrs. Ondego-Jhones at table, reading 
letter. Sierra at piano, playing. 

Mrs. Ondego-Jhones {laying down letter). Very grati- 
fying! Very kind of her ladyship. Sierra! Sierra! {Turns 
to Sierra ; gets up ; shouts in her ear.) Sierra ! 

Sierra {jumpi7ig up). Yes, aunt. I think so too. 

Mrs. O. You are strangely absorbed, miss. Pray, of 
itfhat were you thinking ? 

Sierra {innocently). Ted — er — I mean — 

Mrs. O. Is Ted a. musical term ? 

Sierra. I said ped, aunt. Short for pedal, you know. 

Mrs. O. {eying her severely). You are sure ? 

Sierra. Quite sure. {Aside.) That's four fibs since 
breakfast. Oh, me ! 

Mrs. O. Very good. Listen to this. First sit down. 
Never stand in that awkward style again. When will you 
learn repose ? (Sits by table.) 

Sierra. Can't say, aunt. Drive on. (Sits sideways on 
her chair, propping her chin on her hands.) 

Mrs. O. Drive on ! But what can one expect from a girl 
brought up by a man on a ranch ? However, listen, Sierra. 
I have here a most gratifying \ letter from the Countess of 
Paynaught. Her ladyship accepts in the most friendly style 
my offer of hospitality, and proposes to leave her daughter, 
Lady Guinevere, in my care, while she continues her 
tour westward. Ah ! little did I think when I made #x»y 



4 A BOX OF MONKEYS. 

offer on the steamer that her ladyship would confide h*er 
daughter to me for the winter. Quite an honor, isn't it, 
Sierra ? 

Sierra. Honor ! I think it's beastly cheeky ! You told 
me yourself that her ladyship snubbed you persistently from 
Liverpool to New York, and called you that Ondego-Jhones 
person. 

Mrs. O. Her ladyship's manner on the steamer, Sierra, 
was due to a contest between a plebeian ailment and an aris- 
tocratic digestive apparatus. In short, her ladyship was 
sea-sick. No one dreams of making sea-sick people account- 
able for anything they say. 

Sierra. I don't care ! I would not have her daughter. 

Mrs. O. {absently). How well it will sound! Among 
other distinguished visitors were Mrs. Ondego-Jhones and 
her guest, Lady Guinevere Llandpoore. Delightful ! I 
rather think that will take down Mrs. Newcome, who is in- 
sufferable on the strength of her puny little Italian count 
The idea of my entertaining members of the English aris- 
tocracy will simply annihilate her. 

(Sierra beco?nes absorbed in seeing how far she can 
stretch her chewing-gu7n.) 

Mrs. O. Lady Guinevere arrives to-day ; she can assist 
at Sierra's debut to-morrow. I will write the notices for ttee 
society notes. ( Writes.) 

" Mrs. Ondego-Jhones introduced her fascinating niece, Miss 
Sierra Bengaline, at a Kaffee-clash yesterday afternoon. This 
German innovation proved a pleasant relief from the monot- 
onous 'teas' in vogue." {Aside.) That's a slap at Mrs. 
Newcome's weak tea. {Writes.) " Lady Guinevere Lland- 
poore, only daughter of the Earl of Paynaught, assisted in 
receiving. Miss Bengaline, who was brought up in the dis- 
tant West, brings the spicy atmosphere of her native prairies 
with her." I put that in, Sierra, to account for any atrocious 
thing you may see fit to do. 

Sierra. Good idea. 

Mrs. O. {writes). " Miss Bengaline was the recipient of 
numerous bouquets " — {aside ) I shall order nine this morn- 
ing — " and bids fair to be the belle of the season." (Lays 
down pen.) There, that will do, when the gowns are described 
and the names added. Now I must fly to the intelligence 
office, and secure at least three maids before lunch. Sierra, 



A BOX OF MONKEYS. § 

what do I see ? Remove that vile stuff from your mouth, and 

sit up. 

Sierra. Yes, aunt. {Sticks the wad of gum on back of 
chair j sits up primly,) 

Mrs. O. Pay attention ! The butler Mrs. Campbell recom- 
mended is to come this morning. You will have to open the 
door and interview him. It looks dreadfully, but can't be 
helped, since cook is the only servant who didn't "strike" 
yesterday. Well, ask this -man the usual questions, and, if 
he is at all presentable, engage him. (Bell rings.) Gra- 
cious ! Is it possible Lady Guinevere has arrived ? Run to 
the window and see. 

Sierra {runs to the window; looks out; turns to audi- 
ence). It's Ted, and aunt not gone. I'll beckon him to go. 
{Waves her hands ; shakes ner head violently.) 

Mrs. O. {who has been collecting letters, eyeglasses, gloves, 
etc., turns, and sees Sierra gesticulating). What are you 
doing ? Think of the. neighbors ! Who is it ? 

Sierra {hastily drawing curtains and coming down 
front). It's no one, aunt. 

Mrs. O. {severely). What do you mean by making a — a 
semaphore of yourself for no one f 

Sierra. I meant no one in society, aunt. It was a — er — 
a kind of — er tramp, and I waved my hands to signify dis- 
pleasure, and he went away. 

Mrs. O. I presume he thought you were a lunatic. 

Sierra. Yes, aunt. Auntie, if that English girl is com- 
ing to-day, don't you think you ought to hurry and get some 
servants ? She won't believe your entire staff left in a fury ; 
she'll think you never had any. The English are so super- 
cilious, you know. 

Mrs. O. Yes, yes, I'm off. Don't forget about the but- 
ler, Sierra. ( Starts toward centre door ; comes back.) And, 
Sierra, con over that little abstract I made for you of light 
society talk. I don't want a tongue-tied debutante on my 
hands. 

Sierra. What a nuisance! 

Mrs. O. Nonsense! A girl has to work for popularity 
nowadays. Well, good-by. {Kisses her. Exit C.) 

Sierra. I thought she would never go. Now I will 
beckon Ted in. {Runs to window ; looks out.) Heavens ! 
They nearly ran into each other. It's lucky aunt don't know 
him by sight. She is glaring out the window as the carriage 



6 A BOX OF MONKEYS, 

turns fche corner, and he is coming up the steps. I'll let him 
in. Isn't he a daisy ! {Exit c. ; returns with Edward 
Ralston muffled in a large ulster.} 

Sierra. Ted, how could you ring the bell when there 
was no red book in the window ? I had to tell aunt you 
were a tramp. 

Ted (laughing). I quite forgot the red book. The fact 
is — Look at me, Sierra ! (Throws off ulster. Shows he 
is in evening clothes.) 

Sierra. Evening clothes in the morning! Oh! Oh ? I 
see ! Locked out. 

Ted (indignantly). Jove! Locked out! Nothing of the 
sort. I got up early, rushed off to have a picture taken in 
this rig to please you, and you reward me by the most inju- 
rious suspicions. I was never locked out in my life. 

Sierra. Always locked in ? 

Ted. Sierra — 

Sierra. There, there, I won't tease any more, Ted. 
Don't let us spend our precious time in quarreling. Come, 
sit down, look pleasant and perfectly natural, and you'll see 
a little bird — that's me — with some news. (They laugh; 
sit on sofa, left.) 

Ted. Now for the news, you little witch. 

Sierra. You remember the Countess of Paynaught? 

Ted. No, I don't. 

Sierra. You do, Ted. 

Ted. I do not, Sierra. 

Sierra (firmly). You do, Ted. She's that disagreeable 
woman who called aunt the Ondego-Jhones person. 

Ted. Oh, I recollect ! you told me about her. Well, 
what comes next ? 

Sierra. Her daughter comes next. After insulting aunt 
for three thousand miles, her ladyship kindly invites her 
daughter to spend the winter with her — the Ondego-f hones 
person / 

Ted. That's rather cool. I suppose your aunt regularly 
flattened her out — on note paper. Declined the honor with 
freezing sarcasm, eh ? 

Sierra. On the contrary, she is delighted, because the 
wretched girl has a title, and will look well in print. She 
will arrive to-day, and assist at my debut to-morrow. Ted 
{Jumps up ; seizes sofa pillow), I detest society! I feel par- 
boiled, smothered in it. And I — don't — want — to— come 



A BOX OF MONKEYS. 7 

—-out ! (Emphasizes each word with a thump on the 
sofa.) 

Ted (springing up). Great Julius Caesar! Sierra, I'm 
not society. 

Sierra (laughs ; walks to table). You! - You're only a 
cowboy. Papa said so. Ted, shall you ever forget that 
dreadful afternoon when you rode over thirty miles to tell me 
you loved me, and papa found us spooning in the corral, and 
raved around, denouncing and cutting off, etc. ? 

Ted (going to her). No ; and I sha'n't forget how you 
stood up and defied him, like a brick — er — angel. 

Sierra. Brick angel ? 

Ted. No, no ; angel. 

Sierra. Oh, plain angel ! 

Ted. No ; like a fascinating little cherub with a good 
firm will of its own. Jove ! how your eyes flashed when you 
said he might send you East, but you'd never, never give up 
Ted. (Takes her hand.) Sierra, I often wonder why you 
like me. 

Sierra (coquettishly). Why? Let me see. Well, you're 
very warm-hearted. 

Ted (edging nearer). That's so. 

Sierra. And I like your taste in — er — girls, and the 
shape of your nose, and you named your gold mine after me, 
and I'm so sorry it will not pan out. That's it. It's pity. 

Ted (butting his arm around her). Pity, Sierra ? 

Sierra (disengaging herself runs to other side of table). 
Gracious, Ted! don't put your arm around me, and say 
44 Sierra " in that tone. It — it makes me nervous. (Picks 
up papers^) 

Ted {walking up and down) . You took it coolly enough 
out on your father's ranch. Of course I was a fool to expect 
to hold you to our engagement. I'm only a poor fellow with 
a gold mine which won't pan out, confound it ! 

Sierra. Oh, Ted ! 

Ted. I see it all. To-morrow your aunt presents you to 
society, where you may meet some really eligible fellows. I 
knew there was something wrong when you didn't kiss me 
this morning. 

Sierra. Of course I didn't. 

Ted. Why of course ? ( Stops in front of her,) 

Sierra (mischievously). I wasn't invited. 

Ted (rushing to her). I'll take that kiss with interest, 
now. 



5 A BOX OF MONKEYS. 

Sierra {skipping round the table ). No, no ! Please, 
really, Ted! I'm — I'm busy. {Dips pen in ink, holds it 
out theatrically.') One step nearer, villain, and I ink your 
immaculate bosom. But {shyly) if you'll give me a little 
time, I'll surely pay you, 

Ted. Honor bright ? 

Sierra. Honor bright! Now, Ted, help me get up my 
" light society talk." You see, aunt is so afraid 1 shall 
say something original and paralyze her " set " to-morrow, 
that she has forbidden me to say " mustang," "ranch," or 
" poker," and prepared a few well-bred inanities for me to 
sling at the effete East. 

Ted, Is " sling at the effete East " one of them ? {Takes 
paper from Sierra.) 

Sierra. Oh, I'm using you as a safety valve ! Now you 
go out, then come in with a hee-haw languid manner, don't 
you know, and I'll receive you Eastern style. 

Ted. All right. {Goes out ; comes back.) Ready. 

Sierra. Wait till I am posed. ( Stiffens herself j crosses 
hands ; holds her head on one side ; smiles.) Ready, Ted. 

Ted {co??iing forward with affectation of languor, his 
eyes half shut). Aw — chawrming day, Mrs. Ondego- 
Jhones. You always have chawrming days on your days. Is 
that chawrming girl your niece ? Present me, pray. 

Sierra. Good ! You don't look as though you knew 
enough to come in out of the wet. Ted, I'd no idea you 
could look so swell. 

Ted. - There's the making of a fine idiot in mesilf, miss. 
Proceed. 

Sierra. Now I'm to look at you composedly, but not 
boldly, and say archly, "May I give you some tea, Mr. 
Emtehed?" 

Ted {looking at paper). Then we have a little fire of 
epigrams about cream and sugar, and I ask you if you care 
for the opera. 

Sierra {talking very fast). I'm 'devoted to Wagner — 
{Aside.) What a fib ! — but care little for the Italian school. 
However, everything is so new to me — Oh, Ted, let's drop 
it! 

Ted. I'm agreeable. 

Sierra. And, Ted, I'm afraid you^d better go. Aunt 
may return. 

Ted. Go ! Why, I've just come. Besides, your aunt 



A BOX OF MONKEYS, 9 

has never seen me. I only figure in her mind as an unde- 
sirable lover named Edward Ralston. Very good ; if she 
returns, we'll brazen it out. Say I'm a long-lost cousin or a 
book agent. 

Sierra. "You'll have to do the •fibbing, Ted. I've told five 
fibs since breakfast, and my conscience aches. 

Ted. I'll attend to it. And now I Tl settle up our account : 
fifteen minutes' interest on one kiss makes — 

Sierra. You can't collect it. 

Ted. Oh ! can't I ? 

S.erra.. First catch your hare. 

(Snatches up sofa pillow ; runs out, followed by Ted, 
They run in R., out L., in c, out R.) 

Sierra {coming in cautiously, R.). He missed me up- 
stairs. I'm going to hide in the back hall, and when he 
comes I'll let this fly. (Tiptoes off, C.) 

Ted (stealing in, L.). Not here! (Takes slumber-pil- 
lows off of chair.) Now, then, look out, Sierra. (Tiptoes 

Off, L.) 

(Bell rings violently three times. Enter Lady Guinevere 
Llandpoore in travelling gown. She carries dressing- 
case, umbrella, and mackintosh. Speaks hi timid, hesi- 
tating style.) 

Lady G. Ahem ! Is anybody home ? (Comes forward; 
looks all about.) No one here. What a funny house ! I 
rang, and rang, and rang. No one came. The cabby — I 
mean cabman — wouldn't wait. I couldn't sit on the steps 
like a beggar, so I came in. Mamma said I must expect 
unconvenfionality, but really — Well, I might as well sit 
clown. (Sits r. of table, holding her bag and umbrella 
tightly.) I wish mamma had taken me with her ; but papa's 
Irish tenants won't pay any rent, so it was cheaper to have 
me with Mrs. Ondego-Jhones. Besides, mamma was afraid 
we'd meet Cousin Chauncey. He has a gold mine, without 
any gold in it, out West — in Louisville, I fancy. Oh, I 
wish some one would come ! Mamma says there is a niece, 
a Pawnee in petticoats, whom I am to study up, because 
men like Pawnees — in petticoats. I'm to learn American 
fascination in three — (Peals of laughter heard outside.) 
Gracious, some one coming ! What did mamma tell me to 
say? Oh, I know! (Rises j comes forward smiling.) Mrs, 
Ondego-Jhones ? So good of — 



IO A BOX OF MONKEYS. 

{Pillow flies in R. e., lands at her feet. Sierra follows it; 
stands aghast, staring at Lady G. Cushion flies in l. k., 
followed by Ted, who is equally amazed. Lady G. drop* 
bag and umbrella, turns in wonder fro?n one to the other.) 

Sierra. Ob, pray excuse us ! We're having a little lark. 
Don't be frightened. 

Ted. Yes, that's all. No cause for alarm. 

Lady G. {frigidly'). Thanks. {To Sierra.) Is Mrs. 
Ondego-Jhones at. home ? 

Sierra. No, not at present. Lady Guinevere Lland- 
poore, I presume. Let me present myself — Miss Bengaiine, 
Mrs. Ondego-Jhones's niece. 

Lady G. Charmed to meet you, Miss Bengaiine. {Aside.) 
The fascinating Pawnee. {Brings Sierra down front.) 
Please present me to that young gentleman. He spoke to 
me, and I can't answer until we are introduced. {Goes back 
C. ; stands with her head carefully averted from Ted.) 

Sierra {aside). Now, if I tell her his name, she'll tell 
aunt. What shall I do ? {Goes to Lady G.) It's not cus- 
tomary over here, Lady Guinevere, to — er — to — 

Lady G. To what? {Looks at Ted.) Oh! I didn't 
notice his clothes before. He is the butler — 

Sierra {in t err tip ting). That's the idea. And, as I say, 
it's not customary ; but, to oblige you, I will present Larkins, 
my aunt's new butler, to you. 

Lady G. {sinking into a chair). Introduced to a butler! 
What would mamma say? 

Ted {amazed). What is that? Come, I say- — 

Sierra {shaking her fist behind Lady G.). 'Ssh ! Do 
you. or do you not — er — buttle — for Mrs. Ondego-Jhones ? 

Ted. Eh ! Oh ! {L'aughing.) I do, mum. 

Sierra {sternly). Very good. Then carry Lady Guine- 
vere's luggage to her room. The second story front. 

Ted. Yes, mum. {Picks up mackintosh, etc., goes 
toward door, c.) 

Lady G. Stop a bit. Mamma said I was to give my 
brasses to — er — somebody, and have my boxes brought 
here. 

Sierra. Larkins, take Lady Guinevere's brasses, and 
telephone for a messenger to see after her boxes. (Ted 
bows j comes back ; takes checks.) 

Lady G. {timidly). Stop a bit. {Takes out purse j 
gives Ted a piece of silver. Sierra laughs.) 



A BOX OF MONKEYS. II 

Ted. Thank you, your ladyship. {Aside.) Confound 
her impudence! (Exit C.) 

Lady G. Miss Bengaline, is it possible that nice young 
man is a common butler ? 

Sierra. Frankly, Lady Guinevere, he is a most uncom- 
mon one. His life is a perfect romance. 

Lady G. How lovely! Tell it me. {Aside.) Now I'll 
study her. 

Sierra. All right. {Aside.) Isn't she prim ? I'll taks 
a rise out of her. {Sits on sofa. ) First, you must know, he 
is the son of rich parents, who brought him up in the lap of 
luxury, sent him to Harvard, and then — er — 

Lady G. {drawing her" chair nearer). Died? 

Sierra. Thanks. Died when he was a mere infant. 

Lady G. But I don't understand. Is Harvard a kinder- 
garten ? 

Sierra. Technically, no ; but I mean a legal infant of 
twenty years ; so he required a guardian, who in the basest 
way — er — er — 

Lady G. Absconded? All Americans do. 

Sierra. Well, he didn't. He put all the money in an 
English swindle — an Orange Pekoe Trust, which went up 
the flume. 

Lady G. Went where? 

Sierra. Up the flume — burst, smashed, crashed {very 
fast). So Ted — Larkins was ruined, and was opening 
oysters in a Bowery saloon, when aunt found him and 
brought him here. How does that strike you ? 

Lady G. It's beastly jolly — I mean highly entertaining. 
Now I understand the pillow fight. I must tell your aunt. 

Sierra {springing up). Oh, don't ! Please don't. 

Lady G. Why not ? I admire her noble work of charity. 
At home he'd only have received outdoor relief or soup 
tickets. 

Sierra. But this is such a delicate case, Lady Guinevere, 
and my aunt is so modest about her charities. The least 
allusion would — You understand ? {Aside.) Six fibs 
since b/eakfast. Oh, Sapphira! 

Lady G. {rising, goes to the table; sits). If you think 
she'd be displeased, count on my silence. 

Sierra. Displeased is a mild word. Besides, aunt thinks 
pillow-fighting is hoydenish. {Hunts tinder all the chairs 
for her chewing-gum, talking all the while.) You see, papa 



12 A BOX OF MONKEYS. 

sent me East to be toned down, and aunt is doing her best ; 
but there's too much raw material in me to make a good so- 
ciety girl, and that's a fact. (Finds gum, puts it in her 
mouth, sits on sofa, with he?' feet up.) 

Lady G. (aside). How easy she is! I wish I could do 
that. I'll ask her to teach me. (To Sierra, timidly.) 
Miss Bengaline, I've a favor to ask. Don't think it strange, 
but will you teach me a little slang and fascination ? 

Sierra (demurely). Mixed or separate ? 

Lady G. (earnestly). I fancy they always go together, 
for my brother Clarence says the American girls are per- 
fectly fascinating, because you never can tell what they will 
do or say next. He says they are more fun than a box of 
monkeys. 

Sierra. Indeed. He's very kind. 

Lady G. (seriously). Oh, Clarence knows ! So I thought 
if you'd kindly teach me a little, I might be more of a success 
when I go back. 

Sierra (jumping up). I'll do my best. Of course fas- 
cination isn't like acting. You can't learn it in six lessons. 
But if you will teach me English, I'll give you a little Amer- 
ican dash. (Aside?) When I've finished, " a box of mon- 
keys " won't be a circumstance to her. 

Lady G. Then it's a bargain. Shall we begin now ? 

Sierra. Oh, no ! Wait till after lunch, when you are 
rested. Let me show you to your room. Now, then, Lady 
Guinevere, hook on. 

Lady G. Do what ? And please call me Guinevere. 

Sierra. All right. Call me Sierra. (Puts her arm 
around Lady G.) That's hooking on. And now we'll make 
tracks for your room. 

Lady G. {triumphantly), I've hooked on, and I'm mak- 
ing tracks. 

(Girls exeunt R. Bell rings violently several tii7tes. Enter 
Chauncey Oglethorpe. He looks about dubiously.) 

Chauncey. ' Ahem ! Any one at home ? {Looks all 
around; listens ; smiles.) What a lucky thing ! I'll have 
a bit of time to prepare my speech to Mrs. Ondego-Jhones 
and conquer my beastly bashfulness. (Comes forward.) 
Queer house! Quite a paradise for tramps. Front door 
hospitably open ; no one in sight. (Sits by table ; takes out 
letter.) Mrs. Campell's n'ote of introduction. Wish I de- 



A BOX OF MONKEYS. 1 3 

served half she says of me. Now, if I'm only not overtaken 
by an attack of shyness, all will go well. Very neat scheme. 
My revered aunt writes to know if I remain on my ranch all 
winter. I see the trap, reply, " Certainly ; my partner is 
East, and I have to-stay by our gold mine." Invite her to 
visit me. She then feels confident that Guinevere is secure 
from my attentions, and leaves her here. The day her lady- 
ship starts West, I arrive here, present myself to Guinevere's 
hostess, make a favorable impression, make desperate love 
to Guinevere all winter, and when my aunt returns she will 
find her impecunious nephew established as her son-in-law 
elect. Lovely prospect ! {Rises; walks tip and down.) 
Bah ! desperate love, I say. Don't I know that the minute 
a female appears I shall become a tongue-tied, stuttering 
idiot ? I always do. What is there in a petticoat that in- 
duces total suspension of all my faculties ? Then, again, 
how can I stay here all winter? Ralston thinks I'm in Cal- 
ifornia, keeping my eye on that gold mine, minus the gold. 
I've a good notion to go back. The idea of meeting two 
strange females and Guinevere, and explaining things ! Gad ! 
it, makes me burn all over. {Lays letter on table, R. C; 
takes off his top-coat; hangs it on chair, R.) Jove ! I'll step 
into this side room, and collect my senses. {Exit l.) 

Ted {enters R. ; sees coat and hat). That's a give-away. 
I'll remove that circumstantial evidence of my presence, and 
then write to Sierra. {Catches up wraps ; throws through 
R; exit; co?nes back; sits down by table.) Now for my 
note. What will I write on? {Sees letter left by Chaun- 
cey.) Ah! this will do — an old invitation. {Tears off 
blank side ; throws other under table; writes.) "Dearest 
Sierra, — I can't keep up this idiotic deception any longer. 
Will not wait to see your aunt. Will keep my eye out for 
the red book. Can't you — ^{Looks up.) Jove ! some one 
coming. I'll go in the library. 

{Rushes off, r. Enter Chauncey, l.) 

Chauncey. I've got my speech on the tip of my tongue. 
It's rather neat, too. {Comes forward, smili;ig.) Ah ! Mrs. 
Ondego-Jhones, I presume. Allow me — 
(Sierra enters, c. He looks at her in horror ; retreats 

backward to sofa, where he involuntarily sits down, still 

staring. ) 

Sierra. A strange man in a petrified condition. Who 



14 A BOX OF MONKEYS. 

is he, and what petrified him? Oh, I see! It's the butlet 
from Mrs. Campell. Well, he sha'n't stay and interfere witli 
Ted. {To Chauncey, haughtily.) You've a note from Mrs. 
Campell ? 

Chauncey {rising; looks at floor.) Yes. Mrs. Ondego- 
Jhones — I — Oh, no ; too young — I — {Aside.) Com 
found it ! 

Sierra. I am Miss Bengaline; but my aunt left full in- 
structions in regard to you. {Aside.) She said ask the 
usual questions. What are the usual questions ? Oh, I 
know ! {Sits by the table.) Are you sober ? 

Chauncey {coming down front). She thinks I am intoxU 
cated. I must explain. I'll make a bold effort. {Turns 
suddenly to Sierra.) I'm as sober as you are. 

Sierra {springing up). What? How dare you address 
me so impertinently ? That settles it. My aunt would 
never engage you. I will bid you good-morning, and advise 
you to remember that the first requisite in a butler is a re» 
spectful manner. {Walks back to window.) 

Chauncey. Butler ? I ? Oh, madam ! there— is — a-^ 
mistake — ■ I — er — I — {Aside.) I give up. {Crosses r. ; 
stands looking down, twisting his chain.) 

Sierra {coming down l. front). He's a lunatic. He 
can't meet my eye ; can't keep his hands still ; talks wildly. 
I must humor him. {To Chauncey.) Some -mistake you 
say. Didn't you come from Mrs. Campell ? 

Chauncey {aside). The room is going around, and my 
tongue thickening. {To Sierra.) Yes ; I've a letter — a— 
a — letter, you know — a — you know — {Aside.) She thinks 
I'm a fool. 

Sierra. Poor fellow ! He's very nice-looking. {To 
Chauncey.) Allow me to see your letter. 

Chauncey (rushes to table, stumbling over a chair ; 
hunts for letter). Jove ! it's gone ! 

Sierra. The letter? 

Chauncey. Yes. "Good-morning. Er — I'll call again — 
I'm far from well — I'm — er — er — feverish — Jove ! my 
coat and hat are gone ! 

Sierra. I'm horribly frightened. 

Chauncey {coming down R. front. Aside). What must 
she think ? I'll brace up, talk very loud and fast, and ex- 
plain. {Rushes to Sierra ; seizes her hand.) Madam, I'm 
very shy — very shy — very, very, very shy— 



A BOX OF MONKEYS. 1 5 

Sierra. Shy! Ted! Ted! Help! 

Ted (runs in; pushes Chauncey away). How dare you 
touch this young lady ? Sierra, who is this fellow ? (Chaun- 
cey crosses R.) 

Sierra (throws her arms about Ted). Oh, Ted ! I 
think he is crazy. Don't hurt him. Don't go near him. 

Ted. There, my dear, compose yourself. (Leads her to 
sofa.) Sit down, and I'll manage him. (Walks fiercely 
up to Chauncey.) Now, sir ! 

Chauncey (turning). Sir! Why, it's Ralston ! Thank 
fortune. 

Ted. Chauncey Oglethorpe ! By all that's wonderful! 

Chauncey. Let me explain. This horrible tangle is the 
last result of my dreadful shyness. Miss Bengaline mistook 
me for a butler or something — I don't quite understand 
what — and I tried to undeceive her, and now she mistakes 
me for a lunatic. 

Ted. What a joke ! Why are you so bashful ? 

Chauncey. I don't know. I was built that way ; in- 
creasing crescendj from a timid child to a full-blown idiot, 
afraid to look a woman in the face. 

Ted. Poor old chap! Never mind. I'll settle matters. 
Come and be presented to Sierra. She's no end jolly. No 
stiffness about her. 

Chauncey. Oh, no ! Let me sneak quietly away, and 
then you explain. 

Ted. Nonsense ! (Drags hi?n to Sierra.) Sierra, let 
me introduce my partner, Chauncey Oglethorpe — a very 
much abused young man, 

Sierra (rising). Charmed to meet you, Mr. Oglethorpe. 
I've heard so much about you from Ted and your cousin 
Lady Guinevere that I regard you as an old friend. Pray 
forgive my extraordinary stupidity. 

Chauncey. Yes, thank you. It was stupid. 

Sierra. Now excuse me one moment, and I will tell 
Lady Guinevere you have arrived. (Exit C.) 

Chauncey. What a lovely girl ! Has lots of tact. Don't 
stare a fellow out of countenance. 

Ted. Sierra is a trump. Have a cigarette, and be com- 
fortable till she returns. 

Chauncey. Smoke here ! What would Mrs. Ondego- 
Jhones say to that ? 

Ted (laughing). She'd think it very friendly on the part 
of Lord Doncaster's son. 



1 6 A BOX OF MONKEYS. 

Chauncey. Here goes, then. {Lights cigarette.) How 
about you ? {They sit by tabled) 

Ted. You don't understand. Mrs. Ondego-Jhones hasn't 
the pleasure of my acquaintance. I figure in her mind as a 
Western desperado, whom Sierra is to be separated from at 
all hazards. I am here clandestinely. Nice position, isn't 
it? 

Chauncey. By Jove ! Ted, it's a pity she can't know 
you, barring impecuniosity. She'd be proud of you for a 
nephew-in-law. 

Ted. Thanks, very much. Speaking of impecunious- 
ness, how did you leave our mine? Anything turned up ? 

Chauncey. Yes ; the men were turning up lots of dirt 
when I left last week, and the foreman said he thought he 
could manage to do the swearing for us both, so I left him, 
With a red and blue halo about him, watching the men work. 

Ted. Well, I feel sure there is gold there. 

Chauncey. Do you ? By the by, have you seen my 
cousin ? 

Ted. Y'es. She took me for the butler, and Sierra didn't 
undeceive her. Now, aside from my clothes, do you think I 
look like a butler ? 

Chauncey. No ; you're not sedate enough. But, by 
Jove, an idea. Why don't you keep up the deception ? Win 
your way into the aunt's heart, and keep near the niece all 
winter. 

Ted {springhig up). My dear fellow, no power on earth 
would induce me to place myself in such a position. Imagine 
me opening the door, handing the kettle, and inquiring with 
a sickly grin, " Did you ring, madam ? {Advances; 7?ieets 
Mrs. Ondego-Jhones entei'ing c. ; stands in a7nazement.) 

Mrs. O. Did I ring ? I should think I did. You are — 
oh, I see — the butler from Mrs. Campell. Very fortunate. 
Please take my parcel. {Hands hi7ti parcel ; Ted takes it 
silently.) 

Chauncey {rising. Aside). What a joke ! {Crosses L.) 

Mrs. O. (advancing). Mr. Oglethorpe, I presume. Yes. 
Mrs. Campell told me 1 should probably find you here. So 
pleased. Yes. 

Chauncey. Thanks — er — er — Will you pardon my 
smoking — er — 

Mrs. O. Don't mention it. I'm charmed to see you feel 
at home. Now, before we go any further, which is your 
hotel ? 



A BOX OF MONKEYS. 1 7 

Chauncey. The— er — St. James. 

Mrs. O. Very good. My man shall go right down and 
order your luggage sent here ; for my house must be your 
home- while you are in the city. As I said to Mrs. Campell, 
Lord Doncasters son has every claim on my hospitality. 
Excuse me one minute. {Goes to table ; seats herself.) 

Chauncey. You're very kind. {Aside.) She's easy 
enough to get on with. I wonder how she knows the gov- 
ernor ? {Sits on sofa ; takes up paper.) 

Mrs. O. {to Ted). Now, my good man, we'll very soon 
come to an understanding. 

Ted {aside). Will we? 

Mrs. O. Whatever your terms, I agree to them ; what- 
ever stipulations you make, I agree. Having been to all the 
intelligence offices unsuccessfully, I am desperate. With a 
houseful of company, and a reception to-morrow, I must have 
a butler. What is your name ? 

Ted {muttering). What '11 I say ? 

Mrs. O. Eh ? Oh ! Whuttlesay. How very peculiar ! 
And yet how very English. (Chauncey bursts into a fit of 
laughter?) 

Mrs. O. A joke, Mr. Oglethorpe ? 

Chauncey. Yes, er — a good joke. {Reads.) 

Ted. Pardon me, madam, there is some misunderstand- 
ing. 

Mrs. O. Eh ? Oh ! not Whuttlesay ? What then ? 

Ted. Bother the name ! I mean I cannot remain in your 
service. I'm not — not — sure I could — er — suit. I haven't 
— buttled for several years. 

Mrs. O. Buttled ? 

Ted. Imperfect tense — I buttle, you buttle, he buttles, 
or is buttled. (Aside.) What am I talking about ? 

Mrs. O. Ah ! a new verb ; an English revival, I presume. 
However, I understood you had been a valet. 

Ted. A valet ? 

Chauncey. A valet! Jove! 

Mrs. O. And it makes no difference. You are very pre- 
sentable, and I must have you for to-morrow. The maids 
shall attend to everything else, if you will only remain, and 
open the door and hand the kettle. You can leave the fol- 
lowing day ; but you must stay at present. 

Ted. {Aside.) I'll do it. {Aloud.) Very good, mad- 
am ; to oblige you, I will, on the condition that I am free to 
do just what I choose and nothing else. 



1 8 A BOX OF MONKEYS. 

Mrs. O. Then that is settled. {Slips a bill into his 
hand.) You'll find me practically grateful. 

Ted (aside). My second tip. 

Chauncey. He said no power on earth would make him 
do it. 

Mrs. O. Whuttlesay, you may retire. Mr. — 
(Enter Lady Guinevere and Sierra, centred) 

Mrs. O. Ah, my dear Lady Guinevere, welcome ! So 
very pleased to see you again. I've a pleasant surprise for 
you. Mr. Oglethorpe has promised me a visit. 

Lady G. You are very kind to me, Mrs. Ondego-Jhones. 
It is indeed a delightful surprise. (Aside.) What would 
mamma say ? (Crosses L. to Chauncey, who is much etn- 
barrassed.) 

Mrs. O. Mr. Oglethorpe, permit me to present you to 
Mriy niece, Miss Bengaline. 

Chauncey. Thanks. We've — er — met before — 

Mrs. O. Indeed! Where? 

Sierra (looking straight at Chauncey). I do not recol- 
lect meeting Mr. Oglethorpe. 

Chauncey (aside). Jove! I forgot. (Aloud.) Yes, I 
meant I had never seen anything like Miss Bengaline. 

Lady G. Chauncey ! 

Chauncey. I — er — meant I'd like to have seen — er — 
something like her — er — only I never had. 

Sierra. Aunt, who is the other young gentleman ? 

Mrs. O. The other young gentleman is Whuttlesay, the 
new butler. 

Sierra. Whuttlesay ? (Aside.) What a joke ! 

Lady G. (to Chauncey). She said his name was Lar- 
kins. 

Chauncey. Hush ! 

Mrs. O. Whuttlesay, take my wraps. (Gives him man- 
tle, hat, muff.) Now, young people, follow me to lunch ; 
and if you notice any omissions, remember my establish- 
ment is settling down after a terrific domestic cyclone. Mr. 
Oglethorpe, please escort Lady Guinevere. Sierra, give me 
your arm. 

(Lady G. and Chauncey exit centre. Mrs. O. and Sierra 
follow. Sierra kisses her hand to Ted, who stands 

right of ce?itre entrance. As curtain falls, he throws 

Mrs. O's wraps violently on floor j sinks into chair. 

QUICK CURTAIN. 



A BOX OF MONKEYS. I9 



ACT II. 

Scene. — The same. Enter Mrs. O., Sierra, Lady G., 
Chauncey, centre. Lady G. and Chauncey come down 
l., front. 

Mrs. O. Now I must leave you. I've a mothers' meet- 
ing, four teas, and two receptions to attend before dinner. 
Sierra, I leave you to entertain Lady Guinevere and Mr. 
Oglethorpe. 

Sierra. Yes, aunt. Drive — 

Mrs. O. (aside). Do not say drive on. Study Lady 
Guinevere. Observe her air of well-bred repose, her careful 
language. (Aloud.) Lady Guinevere, you must allow Sierra 
to show you my old masters. Mr. Oglethorpe, you will find 
my billiard table in perfect order. Sierra, remember / Au 
revoir ! 

All. Au revoir / (Exit Mrs O., c.) 

Sierra. Do you want to see the old masters, Guinevere ? 
They're patent Americans, you know. (Sits R. of table. 
Chauncey and Lady G. on sofa.) 

Lady G. Patent American ? Old masters ? 

Sierra. Yes : copies, you know. Kept up a chimney 
until they're sooty enough. They are all made in Nassau 
Street. 

Lady G. How clever you Americans are! 

Sierra. Yes ; we're all here. Mr. Oglethorpe, the cush- 
ions of aunt's table are as dead as Moses. She can't play a 
little bit. Shall we have a game ? 

Chauncey (looking sentimentally at Guinevere). Just 
as you say, Miss Bengaline. But — er — why — not — simply 
— talk ? 

Sierra. Yes ; let's. I only asked because aunt sug- 
gested it. 

Mrs. O. (appears c, in walking costume). I'm off, 
young people. Enjoy yourselves. Oh, these wretched so- 
cial duties ! Lady Guinevere, your trun — er — boxes have 
been carried to your room. Good-by. 

All (rising). Good-by. (Exit Mrs. O.) 



20 A BOX OF MONKEYS. 

Sierra. Oh, Guinevere, do let me help you unpack your 
"trunk boxes,'' and show me your London gowns? Mr. 
Oglethorpe, will you excuse us a few minutes ? 

Chauncey. With pleasure. 

Lady G. Chauncey ! 

Chauncey. Well, I — er — didn't mean — 

Sierra. We can imagine what you meant. Let me as- 
suage your grief with papers — English, French, American. 
{Lays papers on table.) Now have a cigarette, and make 
yourself at home till we return. (Girls exeunt c.) 

Chauncey. A very nice little girl. She knows what a 
fellow likes after lunch — solitude, smoke, and news. {Lights 
cigarette. Sits r. of table. Enter Ted cautiously, l.) 

Ted. Is the missus off? 

Chauncey. Yes ; and the girls upstairs. 

Ted (sitting left of table). Then I will have a little vaca- 
tion. Well, isn't this the jolliest mix ? How did you think 
I got on at luncheon ? 

Chauncey. I was amazed at your cheek. Every time 
Miss Bengaline brought out that Whuttlesay with such gusto, 
I nearly collapsed. Indeed, between my guilty knowledge of 
your identity and my consummate bashfulness, I imagine 
Mrs. Ondego-Jhones considers me a donkey. 

Ted. Nonsense ! All you need is confidence. 

Chauncey. Confidence ! How am I to get it ? I was 
born with my foot in my mouth, instead of a silver spoon. I 
wish you could give me a little audacity, and show me how 
you manage women. 

Ted. That's easy. 

Chauncey. Easy ! Why, fifty times I've been on the 
verge of getting off a proposal to Guinevere. Led up to it 
neatly ; really been almost coherent, you know ; only to«^ 
stand at the last moment gaping, with my mouth open, be- 
cause she looked at me. 

Ted. Well, you must get more confidence, and learn 
diplomacy. Instead of letting her disconcert you, you must 
embarrass her. The way to win a woman is to — 

Chauncey. Yes ; go on. 

Ted. Never let her feel certain of you ; play her like a 
trout ; tantalize her ; lead her on ; when she grows warm, 
cool off; when she comes forward, retreat. Be fascinating, 
but a little out of her reach. When she is wrought up to 
the proper point, propose, and she's yours. 



A BOX OF MONKEYS. 21 

ChaunCEY. Is that how you won Miss Bengaline ? 

Ted {meditatively). Well, no. But it's the way she won 
me, and it is a splendid theory. Poor rule that won't work 
both ways, you know. 

Chauncey. Do you fancy I could do that kind of thing? 

Ted. Certainly. All you need is a little practice to give 
you confidence. I'll show you. Courtship made easy. Here. 
{Pins afghan about his waist ; sits on sofa, fanning himself 
with newspaper.) Now, then, I'm a perfect lady. Imag- 
ine me Lady Guinevere, and propose to me. 

Chauncey. You're a trump, Ted. {Goes to door.) Now 
watch me lead up to my point gracefully. {Comes forward.) 
Good-evening, Guinevere. I've been waiting two years to 
say something. 

Ted- {coquettish ly). Oh, Chauncey! 

Chauncey. Well, 1 have. I love you ; be my wife. 

Ted. Is that your idea of " leading up to it" ? You'd 
frighten rier into saying no Allow me. {Pins afghan on 
Chauncey.) Now, then, let me show you my ideas. 
(Chauncey sits on sofa. Ted crosses r. Coming forward.) 
Ah, Guinevere, how fortunate to find you alone ! Thought 
I'd drop in a moment on my way to the A's and B's and C's. 
Horrid grind, society ! That will give her the idea you are 
much sought after, and the instant a girl thinks you a social 
exotic, she wants you. 

Chauncey. I see. Can't you make it two minutes, or 
do you think time spent with a cousin is wasted ? {Fans 
himself looks at Ted coquettishly^) 

Ted {sentimentally). Time spent with you, Guinevere, 
goes all too fast. Are you going to the curling match ? 
After a compliment, put on the brake with a commonplace 
remark. That whets the feminine appetite. 

Chauncey. I see ; caviare, as it were. Where were we ? 
Oh, I recollect! I'm afraid you are a sad flatterer. 

Ted. Truth cannot flatter. That's old. but invaluable. 
{Takes Chauncey's hand.) What an exquisite bangle: 
Turkish, is it not ? May I examine it ? 

Chauncey. It's wished on. 

Ted {sitting beside Chauncey on sofa). Wished on? 
By whom ? 

Chauncey {shyly). My mamma. 

Ted. Oh, that's all right. Dear little hand! 

Chauncey. Oh, you needn't hold my hand. 



22 A BOX OF MONKEYS. 

Ted. Give me the right to. 

Chauncey {with great artlessness). How ? 

Ted (putting arm around Chauncey). Give me your- 
self. Then your hand is my hand, and a man has a perfect 
fight to hold his own hand. That's logic. 

Chauncey. Logic ; it's impudence. 

Ted. Same thing. You love me, darling, don't you ? 
Say that as a matter of course. Women like the masterful 
style of wooing. 

Chauncey (laughing). Do you love met 

Ted (laughing). I adore you. (Kisses Chauncey.) Is 
it yes? • 

Chauncey. Ask mamma. (Jumps up.) Jove ! I wish 
Guinevere were here now! I'd just fire off my proposal like 
a ton of brick. 

Ted. New way of wooing, eh ? Well, good-luck to 
you, old fellow, when you do meet her. Why don't you do 
it to-morrow evening ? Ask her to waltz ; then get her into 
the conservatory. There's everything in the surroundings. 

Chauncey. I'll do it Say, Ted, if it's not too much of 
a bore, show me how to "back" my partner without tearing 
her dress to ribbons, and making her my enemy for life. 

Ted. All right. 

(Whistles waltz. They dance round the stage, Chauncey 
tripping over afghan. Girls heard laughing.) 

Ted. The girls ! Your cousin mustn't find me here. 

(Exeunt Chauncey and Ted r. Enter Girls c.) 

Sierra. Guinevere, the modest, shrinking air with which 
you sling slang is simply convulsing. 

Lady G. I know I don't— er— sling it very well yet, but 
I mean to learn. Mamma says it's time we girls rallied 
around our young peers, and saved the honor of old Eng- 
land. Do you know, Sierra (tragically), there's hardly a 
marriageable duke left. All snapped up by the Americans ; 
and now they're commencing on our rich commoners. 

Sierra. How greedy ! (Sits on table ; swings her feet.) 
We get there every time, though. 

Guinevere (aside). How fascinating! (To Sierra.) 
Let me do that too. (Sits by Sierra on table, imitating 
every motion,) Do please teach me fascination. 



A BOX OF MONKEYS. 23 

Sierra {aside). Now for a circus. (Aloud.) It's 
very hard to be fascinating in cold blood with a female, but 
■I'll do my best, because I cottoned to you from the first. 
Sabe? 

Lady G. {timidly). I'm on to your lead. Is that right? 

Sierra. You're getting on like a house afire. (Aside.) 
How pleased her brother will be ! 

Lady G. Thanks, dear. But there's something wrong 
yet. When I told your aunt her cook wasn't any slouch at 
an omelet, she seemed reaily thunder-struck. Yet Clarence 
told me that slouch was a common American expression. 

Sierra. It is. About as common as a word can be. 
You're right there. How I would like to meet your brother ! 
As I cannot, suppose you play his part, and I'll entertain 
you in real American style, so you can see the true inward- 
ness of our resemblance to a box of monkeys. (Goes off Q.) 

Lady G. How charming she is ! But I'm learning. 
(Enter Sierra.) Good-evening, Miss Bengaline. 

Sierra (rushing up, shakes hands violently). Hulloa! 
how goes it ? Ma is out, and pa has his coat off. Besides, 
he's got a pipe, a bottle of whiskey, and a dime novel, and is 
making ready for an intellectual treat in the dining-room. 
Moreover, the girl is giving his celluloid collar a bath. But 
we don't care, do we ? 

Lady G. (laughing). Oh, how funny ! Do you girls 
really say such things ? (Sits on sofa.) 

Sierra. Please remember you are your brother. 

Lady G. What would he say ? 

Sierra. He would probably stick his monocle in his eye, 
look as though he was trying to recollect an idea left him by 
his grandfather, and say — nothing, unless he could manage 
some nice little compact repartee, such as " Gad ! " or " Mo- 
ses ! " 

Lady G. Yes, I fancy Claronce would say " Moses ! " 

Sierra. Of course. Ever so many Englishmen come to 
papa's ranch. I know their style. 

Lady G. Well, I'll be Clarence again. Moses! Did 
you ever hear — oh! Thingummy — you know the opera 
that German beggar wrote, three old ladies playing with a 
clothes-line, three fates, or something, by — Wagner. Do 
you like that sort of thing ? 

Sierra. You've got that down fine. Now watch, Guine- 
vere, I'm going to let monkey No. i out of the box. (Jumps 



24 A BOX OF MONKEYS. 

up.) Like Wagner! Never while there's a cat left to our 
back fence. I like tunes, with dances in between each verse, 
and real funny words, like this. {Sings:) 

Air — Money Musk, 

u The English nose is out of joint ; 
The English joke h^s lost its point ; 

The English girl is weeping; 
The American girl is all the go ; 
The American girl is far from slow, 

In English barriers leaping." 

(Dances few steps of breakdown; throws herself into a 

chair R. of table.) 

Sierra. There ! A tune like that snatches Wagner 
bald-headed. 

Lady G. Jove ! Is that right? 

Sierra. Correct. Now, then, Guinevere, 1*11 let monkey 
No. 2 out of the box. Waltz up, and I'll show you how to 
play poker. (Lady G. waltzes stiffly to table^ 

Sierra {laughing). Waltz up is slang, my dear. A 
charming Americanism for approach. 

Lady G. {sits opposite Sierra). Oh ! Then let me 
write it down. {Takes out tablets; writes.) " Snatch 
Wagner bald-headed. Waltz up." I've quite a nice little 
list. 

Sierra {dealing cards. Aside). I haven't the faintest 
idea of how poker is played, and my imagination is nearly 
exhausted. (Tip 'Guinevere.) We each have eleven cards, 
match all we can, and put our money on the — er — pot. 

Lady G. Where is the pot ? 

Sierra. The pot ? Oh, that's a term derived from pot- 
luck, meaning that you plank your pile on whatever happens 
along. Plank your pile means invest your funds. 

Lady G. I see — at least I'm on to the game ! I got that 
off nicely, didn't I ? 

Sierra. Yes : you're as bright as a red wagon. 

Lady G. Thanks, dear. Are your feet crossed ? {Looks 
under tabled) 

Sierra {crossing her feet). Certainly. American girls 
always cross their feet, plant one hand on their hip thus 
(suits action to word), talk at the top of their nasal voices, 
contradict their elders, say " I guess," and laugh incessantly 



A BOX OF MONKEYS. 2$ 

That is the groundwoik of the fascination which makes them 
(sarcastically) more fun than a box of monkeys. 

Lady G. (imitates Sierra's pose. Takes up tablets : 
reads). Now for the game, ante up, and watch me snake 
the pot. 

Sierra (laughing). Good ! 

Lady G. Oh, I'm learning. (Consults tablets; throws 
pair of ki^g^ on table.) Get on to those, and fork over the 
doodle. 

Sierra. What ? Guinevere, where did you get those 
-those expressions ? 

Lady G. Out of an English novel called The Western 
Belle ; A Prairie Romance. The heroine talks that way. 
Isn't it right ? 

Sierra. Right ? Oh, certainly, beautiful ! How pleased 
rouf brother will be with your progress ! 

Lady G. (innocently). Yes. Won't he ? 

Sierra. Undoubtedly. Suppose we don't play any more 
poker. I will teach you that gem of a song. (Rises ; comes 
down front.) My pupil is so far ahead. I shall have to 
retire. 

Lady G. (joining her). Yes ; do teach me the song. 

( They put arms about each other ; dance; singing, u The 
English nose is out of joi7it" etc. Ted and Chauncey 
enter ; stop in amazement, R.) 

Chauncey. My proper cousin ! 

Ted. Sierra singing a "patter" song! (Girls stop L.) 

Lady G. Chauncey with the romantic butler ! 

Ted {crossing to Sierra). Sierra, what are you up to? 
[They retire up to window.) 

Lady G. (crossing to Chauncey). The butler called her 
Sierra. Did you hear ? 

Chauncey. Hush ! He isn't a butler. 

Lady G. No ? Who is he ? 

Chauncey. My partner, Edward Ralston, disguised. 
The aunt don't know him. 

Lady G. How romantic ! 

Sierra (coming forward with Ted). Guinevere, Mr. 
Ralston desires to be presented to you in his proper charac- 
ter. (Ted bows.) 

Lady G. (timidly holding out her hand). Shake, old 
ch&p. 



»^^» , ^f ^» *4^ % <& rm <4r m 4r*>&" m & r "<^ "<«^ '»" "^ 



26 A BOX OF MONKEYS. 

Ted. Pardon ? 

Lady G. (confused). I mean, put it there, pard. 

Ted (amazed). Certainly. (Shakes hands.) 

Sierra. Ted, I want you one moment. (They retire to 
piano. Sierra sits down, playing softly while Ted talks 
to her.) 

Chauncey. Guinevere, it's not my affair, you know, but 
where did you pick up those dreadful words ? 

Lady G. They are not dreadful. Mamma said I was to 
acquire a little American fascination, so I could captivate a 
duke. 

Chauncey. Do you want to captivate a duke ? 

Lady G. No ; but I must obey mamma. 

Chauncey. Only till you — er — marry. Look here, 
Guinevere — look here — (tying his handkerchief into knots) 
« — I — I — -want to — to tell you something. 

Lady G. Yes, Chauncey. 

Chauncey (desperately), I'm — I — I love you. I know 
you think I'm a stammering idiot. I know you won't have 
me. I don't wonder. I wouldn't were I you. I'm shy and 
poor, my gold mine won't pan out, and oh, Guinevere, say it 
quickly! 

Lady G. Say what ? 

Chauncey. No. 

Lady G. (shyly). Pd much rather say yes. 

Chauncey. You dear lovely girl ! (Kisses her.) 

Lady G. Chauncey! Think of Sierra and Mr. Ralston! 

Chauncey. Oh, they're engaged themselves. Miss Ben- 
galine, Ed, congratulate me. Guinevere accepts me. 

Sierra (coming forward). I do congratulate you both. 

Ted. And I, (Brings Chauncey down front.) Did 
you try my receipt ? 

Chauncey. No. I shut my eyes, and dived in, and 
Guinevere landed me. 

Sierra. Young people, I propose a grand celebration of 
this happy event. What shall it be — music, dancing, cha- 
rades ? 

Lady G. Charades; and Chauncey and I will be audi- 
ence. (Sits on sofa ; Chauncey follows?) 

Sierra. Very good. Come, ted. (To Ted) It's the 
only kindness we can show them, to leave them alone. (Exit 
Ted and Sierra, r.) 

Chauncey. Guinevere, I'm the happiest fellow alive. 
What a relief to have the proposal over ! 



A BOX OF MONKEYS. 2/ 

Lady G. {innocently). Yes ; isn't it ? 

Chauncey {taking her hand). Dear little hand. {Bell 
rings.) 

Lady G. They're ready. Let go my hand. 

Ted (entering R.). Lady and dear old chap, you are now 
invited to witness a performance unequalled in the annals of 
the stage. Two artists, unassisted by scenery, will act out a 
word of four syllables in one scene, which requires twenty- 
four characters, a chorus, a village green, a raging ocean, and 
a blood-hound. (Bows. Exit R.) 

Chauncey. Jove ! how he rattles on ! I wish I was 
clever. 

Lady G. You are clever, Chauncey. I don't like men 
who are so awfully talkative. 

Sierra (from door). Ready ? 

Lady G. Let her go {consults tablets), Gallagher! 

Ted and Sierra {skip on, hand in hand; dance around 
stage, singing). We are the chorus. We are the chorus. 
Tra-la-la-la, tra-la-la-la. (Stop R. front.) 

Ted. In the absence of scenery, kindly imagine a village 
green surrounded by spreading oaks. In the — er — bosky 
shade, happy tenantry drinking air with gusto out of paper- 
mugs, while the oldest inhabitant, in a white smock, ex- 
plains the situation to his son's wife. Is that clear? 

Lady G. Yes ; do go on. 

Ted (in high, piping voice). Ees, ma dear; it's a great 
day for me. I's ployed with t'owd squoire w'en ee were a 
lad, and now 'is son is a-comin' back to the old 'ouse. 'Tis a 
joyful day — a joyful day for I, oo is a undered and fifty-two 
come Lady-day. (Weeps.) 

Sierra. There, Father Hodge, don't ee be choildish. 
Sit ye in the shade, hand 'ave a mugo' beer. Young squoire, 
ee won't forgit ye. Ee'll be 'ere directly with his sweet'art, 
Lady Clare, and 'is wicked cousin. A bad lot, that wicked 
cousin — a bold, bad willian. 

Ted. Now we are the chorus again. (Takes Sierra's 
hand. Both cry together.) Hurray ! Hurray ! Hurray 
for the young squire ! 

Ted. Now, Pm the young squire, and Sierra is my sweet- 
heart. (They go back, come down smiling aud bowing to 
imagina7y chorus.) 

Ted. Thanks for your hearty welcome, my honest friends. 
I'm rejoiced to be among you again. It's a pity my father 



;^^^^^<^«^*^-^»^^«d^d^^^ 



28 A BOX OF MONKEYS. 

is not alive to see this day ; on the other hand, if he were, 1 
could not decently inherit the estate. It's a poor heart that 
never rejoices ; so enjoy yourselves. There's a roasted ox 
in the foreground, and unlimited beer and skittles in the 
background. Kindly take yourselves off, and leave me to 
propose to Lady Clare. (Waves his hand. Exit chorus.) 

Sierra. Dear Alphonse, come and sit under the shade of 
this noble tree, where the lime-light will reach us, and tell 
me about your travels. 

Ted {leading her to chair). Darling Clare, the lime-light 
is full upon us, the music is softly throbbing, the time and 
the hour are here, and I am man enough to do my duty. I 
love you, darling. Will you be the young squire's bride ? 

Sierra. I have always adored you. 

Ted. Thanks. I thought you did. I will now leave you 
to your inevitable soliloquy. (Exit R.) 

Sierra (theatrically clasping her hands). He loves me ! 
Happy girl ! But no, I feel a sudden thrill. Such happiness 
cannot last. Ah ! here comes the wicked cousin. Why 
does he so darksomely pursue me ? 

(Enter Ted, his coat collar turned up ; high hat on.) 

Ted. At last ! (Springs to Sierra ; grasps her by the 
arm.) Listen, girl! I love you! Nay, start not! I've 
just murdered your uncle. Near his rigid form I dropped a 
handkerchief, a collar button, an overcoat, and other articles 
of wearing apparel, marked with the name of my puling 
cousin, your lover. 

Sierra (falling on her knees). Cruel man ! Let me fly 
to remove them ! 

Ted. Not so, unless you marry me. In that case you 
may. Thwart me, and I accuse him before the whole vil- 
lage. I love you darkly, desperately, madly ! 

Sierra. Oh, this is fearful! But know, proud ruffian, 
that not to save my darling's life would I consent to tell a 
lie. I defy you ! 

Chauncey (applauding). Hooray ! Good for you ! I 
am the gallery, Miss Bengaline. 

Sierra. Thanks. 

Ted. Now all the characters are on the stage ; I am still 
the villain. Ah ! defy me ? Ho, everybody ? This wretch, 
my cousin, has murdered his benefactor in cold blood. By 
his victim's corpse you will find the evidence. 



A BOX OF MONKEYS. 29 

Sierra. Now I faint. 

Ted. Yes, in my arms. And the curtain falls on a grand 
tableau. {Sierra falls into his arms.) Now, what is the 
word ? 

Mrs. O. {enters a). The word is disgusting, atrocious! 

Sierra {springs away from Ted). Aunt! 

Ted. Now for it. 

Mrs. O. Whuttlesay, retire. Sierra, are you crazy? 
Lady Guinevere, what must you think? 

Lady G. I think it's lovely. 

Chauncey. Yes. But what was the word? 

Sierra. Aunt, you don't understand ; it was a charade. 

Mrs. O. {sinking into a chair). Charades with a butler ! 
Whuttlesay, leave the room. 

Sierra. Do go, Ted. 

Ted. No, Sierra ; I will not. 

Mrs. O. He calls her Sierra t 

Chauncey. What a jolly row ! 

Ted. My name is not Whuttlesay, Mrs. Ondego-jhones, 
nor am I a butler. 

Sierra {shutting her eyes). It's coming. 

Ted. My name is Edward Ralston, and }'Ou must not 
blame Sierra. The misapprehension arose from a perhaps 
not unnatural mistake on your part. 

Sierra. It's all my fault. Don't blame Ted, aunt. 

Mrs. O. Edward Ralston! How could I have been so 
stupid ? Sierra, you need not bristle up. I am charmed 
indeed to meet Mr. Ralston. {Shakes Ted's hand.) 

Ted {bewildered). You're very good. 

Sierra. She must be delirious. 

Ted. You did say you were charmed to meet me ? 

Mrs. O. Yes ; and I meant it. Sierra's father has with- 
drawn his opposition, which was only based on pecuniary 
grounds, you know, and which vanish jaow your circum- 
stances are altered so wonderfully. 

Ted. Who altered them ? What are they ? Oh, some- 
body is crazy ! 

Sierra. What do you mean, aunt? 

Mrs. O. Is it possible? Yes; I see. Well, let me be 
the one to announce the news. As I went out, the postman 
handed me this letter {holds up letter) from Mr. Bengalinc. 
Come around me, young people, and I will read it 



'^^^^^^^^^•^^•^•^•^•^•^•^•^•^< 



30 A BOX OF MONKEYS. 

(Chauncey and Lady G. stand left of Mr& O. ; Ted and 

Sierra right.) 

Mrs. O. {opening lette?-). I've just sold 20,000 head of 
long-horned — No, that's not it. 

All. Go on. 

Mrs. O. "The Republican triumph" — um — "present 
state of the tariff" — er — Ah ! here it is. 

All. Yes ; do go on. 

Mrs. O. "The sudden find of a new lead in the Sierra 
Gold Mine, owned jointly by Edward Ralston and Chauncey 
Oglethorpe " — 

Ted. Gold at last ! 

Chauncey. Jove ! it has panned out ! 

Mrs. O. {smiling). Wait ! {Reads.) " Has produced a 
state of excitement in the country which has not been 
equalled since '49. The superintendent has sent to San 
Francisco for more machinery, and telegraphed the lucky 
partners to come home. Speculators have already bid 
$600,000 for the mine. There is not an inch of ground for 
sale near the Sierra, and the excitement is intense.'"' 

Ted. Hurray! We're millionnaires ! Sierra, you're my 
mascot ! 

Chauncey. This will fetch your mother, Guinevere. 

Mrs. O. Wait! {Beads.) " Of course, now I will not 
oppose Sierra's engagement, as Ralston is a delightful 
young fellow." Now, my dears, isn't this a romance? 

Sierra {kissing her). Oh, aunt, I'm so happy. 

Ted. Yes, aunt, weVe so happy! I'll run on to-night, 
get things in working order, return in four weeks, and then 
for a wedding. Eh, Sierra ? 

Sierra. Oh, Ted, we mustn't be rash ! We'll wait a 
long, long time — say five weeks. {They retire up.) 

Mrs. CK {rising), Mr. Oglethorpe, I congratulate yoi". 
heartily. 

Chauncey. Thanks. I shall go on with Ralston, return 
with him, be married on the same day — 

Lady G. You forget mamma. 

Mrs. O. My dear, your mamma can have no reasonable 
objection to a son-in-law worth at least half a million. 

Sierra {coming forward). Then you forgive us, aunt ? 

Mrs. O. I saw through the whole thing from the first, 



A BOX OF MONKEYS. 31 

you foolish children. Ah! you need not look incredulous. 
Two can play at deception. 

Lady G. {to Chauncey). What a tarradiddle ! She was 
furious over that charade. 

Chauncey. I should say so. By the way, Ted, what waa 
that wonderful word of yours ? 

Ted. Why, Melodrama. 

Mrs. O. Melodrama ? Very clever too r if I can judge by 
the little I saw. 

Sierra. Yes, I thought you seemed pleased. 

Mrs. O. I was. And how very appropriate, as our little 
drama ends in the good old-fashioned melodramatic style — 
all the lovers united, everybody rich, and the hard-hearted 
guardian bestowing her blessing thus (holds out her hands), 
so as to make a good curtain picture. 

Mrs. O., c. 
Chauncey. Lady G. Ted* Sierra. 



quick curtaim. 



■y^^^^w^r^*^ 1 



w THF TVTAfiTCTP ATF f A Farco in Three Actfl « B * Arthur w. 

^ 1 ITL Es AVl AV JTl^ 1 XVfl. A c» [ PlNEBO# Tw eive male, four female char- 
t ——————————— — * acters. Costumes, modern ; scenery, all 

\ interior. The merits of this excellent and amusing piece, one of the most popu- 
lar of its author's plays, are well attested by long and repeated runs in the 
principal American theatres. It is of the highest class of dramatic writing, and 
is uproariously funny, and at the same time unexceptionable in tone. Its entire 
suitability for amateur performance has been shown by hundreds of such pro- 
ductions from manuscript during the past three years. Plays two hours and 
a half. (1892.) 



A Drama in Four Acts. By Arthur W. 
Pinero. Eight male and five female charac- 
ters ; scenery, all interiors. This is a u prob- 
lem " play continuing the series to which " The 
Profligate " and "The Second Mrs. Tanquerav" 
belong, and while strongly dramatic, and intensely interesting is not suited rbr 
amateur performance. It is recommended for Reading Clubs. (1895.) 



THE NOTORIOUS 
MRS. EBBSMITH. 



THE PROFLIGATE. 



costumes, modern. 



A Play in Four Acts. By Arthur W; Pinr- 

ro. Seven male and five female characters. 

Scenery, three interiors, rather elaborate; 

This is a piece of serious interest, powerfully dramatic in 

ama- 



erest, powerfully dramatic 
movement, and tragic in its event. An admirable play, but not suited for an 



teur performance. (1892.) 



THE SCTOOLMISTRESS. f &?£££»%£ 



Acts. By Arthur 
male, seven fe- 
male characters. Costumes, mod- 
ern ; scenery, three interiors, easily arranged. This ingenious and laughable 
farce was played by Miss Rosina Vokes during her last season in America with 
great success. Its plot is amusing, its action rapid and full of incident, its dia- 
logue brilliant, and its scheme of character especially rich in quaint and humor- 
ous types. The Hon. Vere Queckett and Peggy are especially strong. The piece 
is in all respects suitable for amateurs. (1894.) 



THE SECOND 
MRS. TANQUERAY. 



A Play in Four Acts. By Arthur "W. 
Pinero. Eight male and five female ch ar- 
acters. Costumes, modern ; scenery, three 
interiors. This well-known and powerful 
play is not well suited for amateur per- 
formance. It is offered to Mr. Pinero's admirers among the reading public in 
answer to the demand which its wide discussion as an acted play has created. 
(1894.) Also in Cloth, $1.00. 



SWEET LAVENDER. 



A Comedy in Three Acts. By Arthur 
W. Pinero. Seven male and four female 
characters. Scene, a single interior, the 
same for all three acts ; costumes, modern and fashionable. This well known 
and popular piece is admirably suited to amateur players, by whom it has been 
often given during the last few years. Its story is strongly sympathetic, and its 
comedy interest abundant and strong. (1893.) 



THE TIMES. 



A Comedy in Four Acts. By Arthur TV. Pinero. 2!* 

male and seven female characters. Scene, a single ele- 

. gaat interior ; costumes, modern and fashionable. An 

entertaining piece, of strong dramatic interest and admirable satirical humor. 

(1892.) 



Comedy in Three Acts. By Arthur 



1 lit WEAKER SEX* W. Pinero. Eight male and eight female 
' "• ' characters. Costumes, modern ; scenery, 

two interiors, not difficult. This very amusing comedy was a popular feature of 
the repertoire of M. . and Mrs. Kendal in this country. It presents a plot of 
strong dramatic interest, and its incidental satire of *" Woman's Rights" em- 
ploys some admirably humorous characters, and inspires many very clever lines. 
Its leading characters are unusually even in strength and prominence, which 
makes it a very satisfactory piece for amateurs. (1894.) 



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^^•^•^- 



The Plays op Henrik Fbsen. 

Edited, with Critical and Biographical Introduction, 
by EDMUND GOSSE. 

/ 

This series is offered to meet a growing demand for the plays of this well- 
abused and hotly-discussed writer, whose influence over the contemporary drama 
is enormous even if his vogue in the American theatre be still regrettably 
small. These plays are intended for the reading public, but are recommended 
for the use of literary societies and reading clubs, and somewhat diffidently 
suggested to dramatic clubs, as providing unconventional but vigorously acta- 
ble material. As a dramatist Ibsen is absolutely *' actor-tight," and has written 
more successful parts and inspired more '* hits •■ than any of his more popular 
contemporaries. This edition is printed in large, clear type, well suited for the 
use of reading clubs. The following titles are ready. 

A DOT T N HOTPSF I A pLAY m Thre e Acts. Translated by Wil- 
XJKJl^l* O riKJVOE- I mam Archer. Three male, four female char- 
— — — — — — — — — i ac ter8, and three children. Price, 25 cents. 

THE PILLAR S OF SCX3ETY.J &J^» b *»<fc£SS 

1 Archer. Ten male, nine 
female characters. Price, 25 cents. 

(^fJf^C'TC I A Drama in Three Acts. Translated by "William 
vjj. av^wj x *?* i archer. Three male, two female characters. 

1 Price, 25 cents. 

PO^IVTFR^WOT TOT I A Drama in Four Acts. Translated by M. 
IV.^OlVlEJVOrx^l-lVl* I CARMICHAEL. Four male, two female charac- 

1 ters. Price, 25 cents. 

THE LADY FROM THE SEA, 



I Ti 

J TPi 



characters. 



Drama in Five Acts. 

Translated by Clara Bell. 

Five male, three female 

Price, 25 cents. 



AN" F1MFMV OF ^OTTFTV ! A Plat in Five Acts. Trans- 
ain niNmviY ur oi^mi y, | ^j^ by WlLLIAM archer. 

1,1 Nine male, two female charac- 
ters. Price, 25 cents. 

TUT? WTT "H nTin^ I A Drama in Five Acts. Translated by E. 
inc. WILi; l^UVA* j M avelino. Twelve male, three female 
-— — — ____j characters. Price, 25. cents. 

A Play in Five Acts. 



THE YOUNG MEN'S LEAGUE. 



(Translated by Henry 
Garstarphen. Twelve 
Price, 25 cents. 



male, six female characters. 

HFlYHA fiARTFR ( A Drama in Four Acts. Translated by 
iniujUl\ V7APJ-CJ^» j Bdmund qosse. Three male, four female 



characters. 



Price, 60 cents. 



THF MA^TFR RTTTTDFR I A Play in Three Acts. Trans- 
itu 1V1/\D1EJ*. DUiLl/£J^ | lated by Edmund Gosse and Wil- 

A] 



female characters. 



Liam Archer. Four malf *hree 
Price, %& ^ents. 



(>.i».»H»» 



i»»*»ia, m «,a, 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




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